Different Points of View
by Tantz
Summary: My part of a joint project. Sequel to In the End and After the End. Severus, Remus, Harry and the rest of the survivors pick up the pieces.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Okay! Here I am again. This is my THIRD story in my 'Snape as narrator' pieces. To all those that asked for another point of view, my sister in crime *coughs* in writing, JaimynsFire, will cater to you. I love Remus, but I can't really put my self in his place. (yes, that means that I can perfectly easily do so with Snape). So this story will go hand in hand, and I will publish a chapter, then Jaimynsfire will, narrating the same events from two different points of view. For your viewing pleasure. I do request that you read both sides. 

This is a sequel to 'In the End' and 'After the End', so I suggest you read the whole thing first and then come back again and start this one. 

Also, for Remus' take on some of the events in those two previous fics, visit JaimynsFire's 'My last End'. 

Thanks people! 

__________________ 

I can't believe what got over me. I must be going insane, in a subtle manner that does not allow anyone in my environment to understand it. There is no other explanation for what I did today. 

I proposed Remus Lupin to be the DADA professor. 

How the hell could I do that? Whatever possessed me to WANT that insane werewolf to stay in the school much less teach such an important position, especially after everyone asked -me-. I thought I wanted that position more than anything. I dreamt the day I would be asked to teach it. And what do I do? I throw it away. I decline and proclaim Lupin as the most fit for the job. 

It can't be thankfulness. He was out scavenging in the forest the night Potter and his buddy Weasley managed to wake me up. If I am thankfu to them, it is for a reason. Of course they don't have to know that. But Lupin!? 

He is smiling at me with that infuriating knowing, serene and pleasant smile of his. I think he finds it funny. I want to hit him over the head. In fact, lately I want to hit everyone over the head. It is close to Christmas, and all the professors are trying to go for a festive mood, for the sake of Potter and Weasley and Linda Mills more than anything. They are the only students left here. The rest will return on January. Much sooner than I wish. I look still so ill and weary. 

Not that I am not. My arm is in a sling and still bleeds profusely. I seem to have a remarkable affinity about losing blood. I need to have my bandages changed three times a day. No spell of any kind is used on the gaping hole that used to be the Dark Mark, because they are afraid that the magic will make it worse instead of better. I somewhat agree with them. This is ancient dark magic, that feeds on anything it can. Bleeding probably helps purge it, and that is why it hasn't yet stopped. 

But there are times that I would simply kill for a painkilling potion. I have been brewing all sorts of tandalizing draughts, knowing full well how they would ease my pain or turn it into pleasure or just make me high so that I wouldn't feel the misery of my body, and fed them all to others needing them. It's like being famished and feeding someone else. 

Life has a perverse way of toying with me. 

Flitwick is decorating the Christmas tree. I was somehow coerced to help with the rest of the decorations. I have my left arm in a sling, so what I do basically is follow Potter and Lupin around with a basketful of holly and mistletoe that they enchant silver or gold and raise up against the walls. Despicable, bad imitations. Only Albus could pull off a really neat decorating. Lupin even has the cheek to ask me. 

"Severus, why won't you cheer up even a little bit? You look like you ate something sour." 

I sneer at him. 

"I find it somewhat inappropriate to go around decorating an -empty- castle." I retorn, stressing empty in a way that makes Potter pale and Lupin look away. I know they realised both that I mean Albus, hell, even that great oaf Hagrid. 

I do not allow myself to feel any guilt that threatens to creep in my heart. I put the basket down and about turn to go. To go anywhere my feet take me, but hell, away from all this false happiness, all these pretent smiles where you can see the effort and the sorrow hidden behind the eyes. Why do I have to pretend everything is normal when everything clearly is all wrong? 

Or am I the only one that sees it that way? I know everyone has been talking about rebounding, finding some semblance of routine and get a sort of a life going. Life has to go on. But why can't I let go? I am still the odd one out. And they keep looking at my bound arm so oddly. I am in such a mess of emotions lately. 

I am outdoors. I look around and I realise that my feet have taken me to Albus. I swallow. It is the first time I see his tomb. The Gryffindor badge is sculpted on the slab that lies on the ground, but the Hogwarts sign is what is gracing the middle of a muggle - looking cross. On bas-relief on each arm of the cross are the four houses' mascots. Well. He had been truly a Headmaster encompassing everyone and everything. Even penitent Deatheaters. 

I feel I am about to cry. I don't mind. Everyone is inside decorating. I cross my arms and continue scrutinising the art of the engravings and sculpting of Albus' tomb. I feel the icy breeze around me and somehow I find it fitting. But it is annoying that the damn sense of the grave is so... cheerful. Damn you Albus. Couldn't you go for a more sober style? Hell, it -was- a sober style, then why do I feel the need to each a lemon drop and smirk towards your side? 

I put my two fingers at the base of my nose, trying to focus. I am not coherent. Definately not coherent. I am standing in front of a tomb getting angry because I don't feel bad staring at it. Another attenstation to my insanity. 

I shudder and sigh. Rubbing my shoulder with my good arm I realise I haven't got a cape again. I feel to indignant to go back inside and say I forgot it. Childish, I know. I had considered leaving Hogwarts. The thought had been going around in my head for quite a bit of time since Albus died. There was nothing I found worthwhile in teaching small dunderheads that would grow into older dunderheads and hate me as well as Potions. 

Yet here I am. Still Potions Master, still a teacher. And somehow, I felt glad when I gave up my offered place to keep my normal one. I feel at ease with Potions. It is what I do best. And teaching about the Darkness to the young kids that I will meet will only remind me of those that I helped exterminate through my use of it. I do not need such reminders right now. But why I don't go shut myself in a lab instead of being under-average in my teaching methods, is beyond me. 

Yet once more, I feel someone draping a cape around my shoulders. 

"Dancing with Death is not a past time." I am told. 

_____________ 

by who? find out at JaimynFire's, my installment is done! *L* 


	2. 2

A/N: Okay! I am here for my continuation. I am taking it up from a quote from Jaimynfire's chapter. (she's in my fav authors now, it's easy to find her, so FIND HER! *points with wand*)) 

______________ 

Just like Lupin to think that with draping a cape -and a ragged one at that- over my shoulders gives him the right to ask impertinent and highly personal questions. 

"Were your parents killed?" 

A flash of my mother, the only parent I knew. I do not know how she died or whatever happened to her. I have no clear recollection of her except a soft lullaby that she used to sing to me. I have no idea if she'd been killed or if she died. I hope whatever the truth is, that she did not suffer. I am angry at the werewolf for forcing me to remember her. 

"My parents?" I repeat inanely. "What I could call as a father, Lupin." I reply, and glancing once more at the grave, I walk off, then remember something and stop. 

"Your cloak." I toss it at him and he catches it, trying to fathom my soul through my eyes. I want to thank him, but can't find it in me. I am too angry or too proud or both. And somewhat embarrassed. I just admitted to Lupin that I consider myself orphaned because Albus is dead. Hah. A late-thirties orphan. What a tragedy. I hate myself when I go on a pity-trip. I seem to do that a lot lately. 

I need to cheer up. But I simply do not know how to do that. Entering the castle again, I go towards the astronomy tower. 

"You shall find an untimely death, my dear!" 

I stop. What the hell? That sounds awfully like... 

"Did you not hear me? Heed my warning and set your affairs straight for you shall not last, my dear!" 

I see Trelawney's silvery form float towards me, eyes wide and glasses ever so monstrous. It had to be -her- that turned into a ghost. She's not any better in this form, and unfortunatetly she's just as irritating. 

"Just shut up already. Go haunt Godric's Hollow. That's a really nice, tragic place that I am positive you will enjoy." I snap at her, and to my horror she starts howling. 

"The tragedy! The tragedy! I foresaw it yet nobody heeded me! The tragedy! My dears, be aware!" 

I try to walk away from her, lose her in the snaking aisles, but she follows me around howling about all sorts of tragedies she is supposedly predicting, but have already happened. And in chronological order! My skin starts to crawl as she starts going past the events of the year of the Triwizard Cup. I don't want her to recount Albus' death or the fall of Voldemort. I turn and point my wand at her. 

"_Fantomes Warde_!" 

There. Now I am somewhat cheered up as I watch Sybil go in a spin, a phantom-like gag around her mouth, and disappearing in her classroom. I always wanted to do that when she was alive. But oh well. It never is too late, at least in Sybil's case. 

I realise that has put a smile on my face. I am not certain it is a really cheerful type of smile, but nevertheless I am not exactly frowning anymore. So I return to the main Hall where most of the decorations have been completed. 

"We're glad you are back, Professor." Harry tells me. It's odd how he's not just Potter anymore-- or well, he's not just Potter when I am not angry. I nod to him. 

"I seem to keep turning up like a bad Sickle." I attempt to joke somewhat. Black seemed so natural when he did it. In my case, it comes out rather unpracticed. But Harry looks pleased. 

"How is your arm?" 

"Just as it deserves." I want to ask him if he's looking forward to Christmas Eve and even Christmas day when usually presents are opened, but I don't feel like opening up that much. I know it's irrational, but I don't feel safe being entirely loose with other people. It is just something I have been conditioned to avoid. I cannot change overnight. Hell, I think that I have been making due progress. 

I do not see Weasley. My eyes narrow. 

"Where is Weasley, Potter?" 

Harry looks chagrined. 

"I am afraid he's in our dorm, Professor." 

"Password, Potter." 

"But--" 

"Now, Potter." 

"Dragonheart." 

"Thank you, Potter." 

The Pink Lady seemed awfully perplexed to see I knew the password. It admittedly had been one of my childhood dreams. I find exactly what I expect to find when I enter through the portrait. He's staring into the fire, his face tear stricken, holding the scroll of homework that Granger last submitted me. Idly I wondered if perhaps I didn't look the same standing in front of Albus' grave. 

"That sort of isolation will not help you, Weasley." 

"What do you know? You never lost true love!" he lashes out at me, but after Potter and the whole ordeal I went through, I am well prepared and I do not allow the reflexive wave of indignation and rebellion come over me. 

"Do not assume what you have no inkling of knowledge about. I know perfectly well how loss feels." I tell him. My voice still is cold and bordering to hateful, but at least it is not crushing. 

Weasley looks at me, and he's finally surprised. 

"How did you come in here?" 

"I bribed the portrait." 

"But... why?" 

"Because you should be out there with your friend Potter, who still hasn't expressed any of his sorrow about your friend, and you should support him. You'll see that in return, he'll support you unknowingly. It is the way of things." I tell him. 

And it just strikes me that perhaps, just as Weasley is the one lurking and openly showing his pain, while Potter is still trying to be amiable and blending in the shadows, especially when I am around, so does this hold for me and Lupin respectively. 

Glad to have a question I need answered that is not centered on my person, I go in search of the werewolf, to see if I can catch him offguard and see how -he- fares. 

_________ 

that's it. 


End file.
